Apology
by She's a Star
Summary: In which Ron discovers that it is impossible to get away with insulting S.P.E.W. and kicking Crookshanks, and is forced to face the wrath of Hermione.


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Apology

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by She's a Star

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Who, I read on TLC today, might not finish the sixth book until 2006. The year in which I graduate. *is rather distraught* It's going to be book five all over again, isn't it?

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Author's Note: I wrote this awhile back as an answer to a challenge one of my friends - I believe it was Crys - gave me, and didn't ever post it because it's incrediby pointless. Upon rereading it, however, I decided I liked how Ron's characterization turned out in this one, and, well, I figure I need to update somehow, so here ya go. :-)

Harry seems a bit off in this. Just a forewarning.

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It was subtle, which was a new thing for Hermione.

Ron almost didn't notice it at first. He'd actually allowed himself to think that maybe he'd gotten away with insulting S.P.E.W. and kicking Crookshanks, one blow right after another. She had simply pursed her lips, taken a breath, and continued explaining to Harry just where he'd gone wrong on the previous night's Transfiguration homework.

But now he knew that she was, in fact, fuming.

Wrinkling his nose, he stared down at the broccoli that Hermione had just scooped onto his plate with flourish. He hated broccoli, and she knew it.

Kind of a lame attempt at revenge, if you asked him, but she had gotten her point across - she was still mad at him.

And that was almost worse than the broccoli.

It was completely daft of him, of course. He'd gone for four straight years saying exactly what he wanted to and paying no regard of whether or not it would give Hermione Granger that homicidal glint in her eye. As a matter of fact, he'd started perfecting it, making it into a sort of art form - Hermione tormenting, with precision and skill. No one else could do it like he could, not even that Rita Skeeter cow.

And then he'd started caring, and it had all gone downhill from there. Now, during perfect opportunities to annoy her senseless, he found himself complimenting her. When an occasion arose where he was clearly meant to contradict her, he agreed instead.

He even got her perfume for Christmas on a whim.

. . . a really carefully planned out whim.

That probably didn't even qualify as a whim at all.

Damn.

Hermione Granger was doing things to him (in an, er, emotional sense. He didn't even want to think about how Dean and Seamus would mock him if they ever heard him say that out loud) that were downright unhealthy.

He stared blankly down at the broccoli.

Hermione, meanwhile, was continuing to talk to Harry about the homework. "And on problem seventeen, McGonagall actually did have a right to take away full points, because even though you answered a portion of the question correctly--"

"Hermione, I get it," Harry cut in, more than a little irritated. Hermione looked slightly surprised at this miniature outburst, and Ron snorted. Really. She got so swept up in homework sometimes that she didn't even realize normal people didn't exactly care.

It was kind of cool. In a weird way.

. . . 

Yeah. Definitely something wrong with him.

"Well, fine." Hermione sounded slightly offended. "I was just trying to help."

"I'll figure it out," Harry assured her. "You've explained it really well."

"Yeah. About five times, too." Ron hadn't been able to resist that one.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Eat your broccoli, Ron."

Ouch.

"Right away, Mum," he muttered darkly.

She scowled and turned back to Harry. "All right. If you're sure that you can get it done by tomorrow yourself. Just because you're the captain of the Quidditch team this year doesn't mean you can neglect your studies, you kno--"

"Hey, Harry!"

If it had been any other situation, Ron wasn't sure he'd have wanted Harry to look that happy about seeing his sister, but he figured as Hermione had been about to go off on another one of her homework lectures, it was okay. Plus, Harry wasn't such a bad match for Ginny. Better than Dean bloody Thomas, anyway. Or that Michael bloke. He was glad she wasn't with him anymore.

"Hi, Gin."

Ron wondered exactly when Harry had become an intimate enough acquaintance that he was allowed to chop off the second syllable of her name.

"Do we have practice tomorrow?" she inquired, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, 'course," Harry replied, grinning. It was weird to see him smile - he hadn't been doing it very much since Sirius had died. "You think I'm going to let the team relax just because it's the weekend?"

Ginny's eyes were sparkling. "Slave-driver."

"Nah," returned Harry. "I'm just not lazy like some people."

Ron glanced at Hermione - she was watching the exchange with a small smile creeping around the corners of her mouth. Hmm. Maybe he wasn't the only one that thought Harry and Ginny weren't such a bad match.

It was an intriguing thought. Maybe he'd ask her about it.

Except, he remembered as he stared down at his plate and the rather abysmal sight of the broccoli, she was mad at him.

And maybe it was for good reason. His taunts about spew - er, S.P.E.W. probably got a little old, and kicking her cat had been kind of unnecessarily cruel. But it had just been a small kick -- more of a hearty tap, really, and Hermione couldn't say he didn't have a right to get mad when that stupid feline walked across and successfully muddied the Potions essay that he'd been working on for the past hour. She should've understood perfectly; after all, she was like the Ultimate Goddess of All Things Homework.

So there.

But still. He kind of wanted to talk to her, instead of sitting here in silence while Harry and Ginny rambled on about Quidditch.

But what, exactly, he was supposed to say was the problem. Apologies weren't his thing. Not when he was dealing with Hermione, anyway. What was he supposed to say? 'Sorry that I kicked your cat and insulted S.P.E.W., Hermione. I'll never do it again'? He felt ashamed just thinking about it.

So instead he said the only thing he could think of off the top of his head.

"I hate broccoli."

It was clear from her coolly triumphant stare that that had, in fact, not been the right thing to say.

Oops.

"Do you?" Hermione asked loftily. "Sorry about that."

They both stared at his plate for a moment.

"It's good for you, you know," she continued, this time adapting that tone he hated. The genuine know-it-all one, where she knew it all and knew she knew it all.

"So I've heard," he grumbled at his mashed potatoes.

"Maybe I wouldn't forget those sorts of things if you didn't kick my cat," she said offhandedly.

Oh. So she wanted to get bicker-y, did she?

Fine. He could handle that. Ron was the master of bickering with Hermione. No one else could even begin to compare.

And she'd asked for it.

He opened his mouth, preparing the most scathing remark he could come up with, and proclaimed--

"Sorry that I kicked your cat and insulted S.P.E.W., Hermione. I'll never do it again."

Bloody hell.

She arched an eyebrow at him, looking a bit shocked. "What?"

"Nothing," he said at once.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron, I know you said something. As a matter of fact, it sounded eerily like--"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Ron interrupted quickly, and shoved a piece of broccoli into his mouth.


End file.
